A Good Old Fashioned Villain
by piercethesleepingmice
Summary: Evangeline "Evie" Watson returns home after a trip to the States. She meets her brother's new friend, the consulting detective, and soon moves in with them, after John begs Sherlock to allow it of course. That's because her flat gets blown to bits. You'll see soon enough. Starts from A Study in Pink and continues on from there. Please leave feedback. Hope y'all enjoy!


**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any characters except for Evangeline, of course. 'Tis a shame. :(**

**I've never written a Sherlock fanfic before so hopefully it turns out well. I would really like some feedback, though. Please tell me what you think. Also, if you like Doctor Who, I'm writing one for that so you can go check it out. It's called _Another Scottish Companion_. Enjoy. **

Evangeline Watson felt that today was a good enough day to visit her brother, John. She hadn't see him since her boyfriend, Ryan, had left her for another girl a while back. Evangeline was the youngest sibling and therefore had to look up to John and her older sister, Harry, for comfort when the world decided to rip the metaphorical rug right out from under her feet. John had driven to her flat immediately to comfort his youngest sister. This had all happened around the time that John had last visited home after being in Afghanistan. He had had only a week before he would have to go back.

Evangeline, who went by Evie, had just returned from her vacation to the States. She still had most of her clothing in a couple of large suitcases packed away in the trunk of her car. She literally had just returned, having just left the airport. She had driven to her brother's flat to find it empty and upon further investigation, discovered his new address: 221B Baker Street. Evie drove there next.

When Evie knocked on the door, she was immediately greeted by a pleasant old woman by the name of Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello, dear. Are you looking for Sherlock? He isn't here right now but I'm sure he'll show up eventually." The old woman smiled.

Evangeline frowned in confusion. "Uh, sorry. I thought John Watson lived here. Sorry for bothering**––**"

"Oh, John Watson? He's been here. The two of them, John and Sherlock, they're out right now. I think they're solving a crime right now, helping the police. You can come inside and wait for them if you'd like." Mrs. Hudson turned around and led Evie inside.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Uh, how long has John been living here?" She asked as they walked up the staircase.

"He hasn't been living here that long at all, actually. Sherlock was looking for a flatmate and

they met just yesterday, I believe. Yes, that was it. Would you like some tea?" She asked as they reached a door at the top. "Here we are."

Mrs. Hudson let them both in and motioned for Evie to sit down. She did and looked around the room. There were piles upon piles of miscellaneous objects, mostly books in varying ages, sizes, colors, and conditions. There was one other chair across from where Evie sat, one that seemed to have been sat in quite often. The whole room seemed very comfy and warm. The walls were red with a very victorian floral pattern and there were wooden floors with several tattered rugs in the room. The whole room was just teeming with history.

There was a warm fireplace with many books and such things piled on. There was, strangely enough, a human skull sitting there as well. Evie continued to stare at it, almost questioning its existence, when Mrs. Hudson came back in the room with a pot of tea and two mugs. She poured the tea into both mugs and handing one to Evie, Mrs. Hudson sat down in the chair opposite her. She took a small sip, then holding the warm mug in her lap, she decided to start a conversation.

"So, how do you know Dr. Watson?"

"He's my big brother. I thought I'd come and visit him since I just came back from vacation." Evie shifted to make herself comfortable. "I was in the States and I heard he had been back at home for some time so I thought, you know, maybe I should go home too and see how he's doing. You say he's working for the police now?"

"Sherlock sort of brings John along with him. Sherlock is very helpful with the police. He's always helping them solve those big cases that seem to stump everybody else. I tell you what, he's a genius, that man. He'll look at a body and in five seconds he can tell you what they had for breakfast that morning." Mrs. Hudson beamed with pride. If Evie didn't know better, she would have thought Mrs. Hudson was this man's mother.

"That's amazing." Evie breathed in wonder. It truly was amazing.

The two women sat there silently sipping their tea when there was a knock on the door. Mrs. Hudson stood up to answer the door and was greeted by several intimidating men and a few women. They all bustled in to the room and began to search the place.

"Hey, what is this? What do you think you're doing?" Evie called out.

"I am Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and we are here on a drug bust. We were sent to search the premises and we will find what we came here for. Now would you please step back and let us do our jobs?" He asked hurriedly.

Detective Inspector Lestrade appeared very official; perhaps he was the chief or whatever of this division. But the way he pushed Evie and Mrs. Hudson away made it appear as if a drug bust was not what they came here for. Lestrade proceeded to tell Mrs. Hudson and Evie to leave the room and they were pushed from the flat. Mrs. Hudson, who seemed very upset about this, went downstairs to her flat. Evie just stood by the front door and within minutes that door opened.

Evie stepped away to let the newcomers in and stood by the staircase, closer to Mrs. Hudson's door. They didn't see her. The first to step in was a man in a dark trench coat with the collar turned up and he wore a dark blue scarf around his neck. He had very prominent cheekbones, dark blue eyes, and a head of very curly dark brown hair that came to just below his ears. The man that walked in behind him was none other than her brother, John Watson. They hung up their coats and walked into to the main hallway entrance. Both men were panting like they had just run a marathon.

"That was the most ridiculous thing..." He paused to catch his breath. "...I've ever done."

"And you invaded Afghanistan." Sherlock supplied. They both started laughing.

"That wasn't just me. Why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

"They can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway."

"So what were we doing there?"

"Oh, just passing the time." He looked over at John. "And proving a point."

John looked up, still out of breath. "What point?"

"You. Mrs. Hudson! Dr. Watson _will _take the room upstairs." Sherlock called up to her.

"Says who?" John was clearly not on the same page as the other man.

"Says the man at the door." Right then there was a loud knocking at the door and John walked over to answer it. There was a large man with a lot of graying facial hair holding what Evie now realized was John's cane. How had she not noticed him without it?

John walked back inside with his cane and closed the door. Around then he spotted his youngest sister and a smile, very worn and tired, but a smile all the same broke out on his face. He pulled her forward and enveloped her in a hug.

"Evie, its so good to see you!" He said.

"John**––**" Evie began. She had to tell him about what was happening upstairs but John cut her off.

"Sherlock, this is my sister, Evangeline Watson." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"I thought you said her name was Harriet." Sherlock looked her up and down but not in the sense that he was attracted to her. More like he was trying to read her. Mrs. Hudson had said he was a genius and could figure things out from nothing.

"Well, this is my other sister. Youngest of us all. How was the States, by the way?"

"It was alright. But there's something you need to know. Upstairs**––**"

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson decided to make an appearance. She seemed even more distressed than before.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" She asked him.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock went into a serious mode and looked at her face for clues as to what was the matter.

"Upstairs." She motioned up the staircase with a shaky hand. Sherlock and John raced up the staircase, Evie not far behind them.

Sherlock, once he reached the top of the stairs, burst into the room. Detective Inspector Lestrade was sitting in the black, worn chair that Evie had occupied only twenty minutes previously.

"What are you doing?" He asked, sounding quite angry.

"I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." Lestrade replied.

"You can't just break into my flat." Sherlock fired back.

"You can't withhold evidence**––**and I didn't break into your flat." He replied. He seemed pretty calm about all this.

"What do you call this, then?" Sherlock threw his arms out motioning at all the people going through his things.

Lestrade looked around as if it were obvious then looking up at Sherlock, he responded, "It's a drugs bust."

"Seriously, this guy**––**a junkie? Have you met him?" John replied, making his presence known.

"John..." Sherlock said. John continued to talk, completely ignoring Sherlock.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."

"John, you probably would want to shut up now."

"But come on..." He looked at Sherlock. "...no..."

"What?" He replied.

"You?" John sounded surprised.

"Shut up!" He turned back towards Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." Lestrade answered simply. Sherlock looked into the kitchen. A man whom Evie assumed was the clearly hated Anderson waved at them.

"Anderson, what are _you_ doing on a drugs bust?"

"Oh, I volunteered." He smirked. Clearly this Anderson and Sherlock had something against each other.

"They all did." Lestrade jumped back in. "They're not strictly speaking _on_ the drug squad, but they're very keen."

A women stepped into the room with a jar of what could have been olives. "Are these human eyes?" On closer inspection, Evie realized that they were, in fact, human eyes. She shuddered in disgust.

"Put those back!" Sherlock yelled.

"They were in the microwave." She replied.

All he said was, "It's an experiment." At that, Evie turned to stare at this very strange man.

"Keep looking guys." Lestrade called from his seat. "Or you could start helping us properly, and I'll stand them down."

"This is childish." Sherlock began pacing the room.

"Well, I'm dealing with a child." Lestrade had stood up and had his hands resting on his hips. "Sherlock this is _our_ case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?"

"What? So...so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock shot at him, clearly getting very frustrated.

"It stops being pretend when we find anything." Lestrade answered.

"I am clean!" He yelled.

"Is your flat? All of it?" Lestrade questioned.

"I don't even smoke." Sherlock pulled back his sleeve to show a large nicotine patch on his upper arm.

Lestrade pulled his sleeve back as well to show an identical patch on his arm. "Neither do I. So let's work together." They both rolled up their sleeves. "We found Rachel."

Sherlock turned around. "Who is she?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?" At this point, he seemed to be talking more to himself than to anyone in that room.

"Never mind that, we found the case." Anderson spoke up, pointing to a small pink suitcase in the room that Evie hadn't noticed until then. "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath."

"Not a psychopath, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." He turned from Anderson back to Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in to question her. _I_ need to question her."

"She's dead."

"Excellent." Sherlock spoke rapidly. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for 14 years. Technically, she was never alive." Sherlock didn't say a word so Lestrade carried on. "Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, 14 years ago.

"Oh, that's...that's not right. How... Why would she do that? Why?" Sherlock questioned no one.

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yep**––**sociopath, I'm seeing it now." Anderson cut in.

"She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt." Sherlock seemed to have a set train of thought. He was getting somewhere with this, Evie could tell.

John decided to offer some help. "You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he...I don't know, talks to them. Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow."

"But that was ages ago, why would she still be upset?" Sherlock stopped his pacing. "Not good?"

"Bit not good, yeah." John replied.

Evie decided then to pipe up. She might as well offer something if she was going to be there listening in. "Maybe she felt guilty? It could have been her fault that her daughter died before she could even take her first breath."

"Perhaps..." He looked from Evie to John. Then in a hushed tone he said, "...if you were dying, if you'd been murdered, in your very last few seconds, what would you say?"

"'Please, God, let me live.'" John supplied.

"Use your imagination!" Sherlock spoke quickly.

"I don't have to." John answered very solemnly.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever. Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers** – **she _was_ clever. She's trying to tell us something."

"But what?" Evie asked.

"Isn't your doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson poked her head in the door.

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." Sherlock bustled away, still pacing.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess." Mrs. Hudson said. "What are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock replied tiredly. He had his hands massaging his temples. He was trying to think.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers––" Mrs. Hudson began.

"_Shut up_, everybody! Shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off." Sherlock shouted.

"What, my _face _is?" Anderson asked.

"Everybody, quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back." Lestrade called out.

"Oh, for God's sake." Anderson clearly had no respect for the situation at hand.

"Your back, now, please!" Lestrade yelled at him. Anderson begrudgingly complied.

"Come on, think. Quick!" Sherlock started his pacing again. Evie stepped out of his way to give him space.

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled. She ran away. He must've been on the brink of something. Then he stopped, he calmed down. "Oh... She was clever. Clever, yes! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see? Do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She _planted_ it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer."

"But how?" Lestrade asked.

"What do you mean, how?" Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "Rachel! Don't you see? Rachel!" No one reacted as if they even slightly understood him. The whole room was silent. "Oh...look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name."

"Then what is it?" Evie asked.

"John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address." John checked the label while Sherlock sat down in front of a laptop.

"Er, .uk." John read.

"Oh, I've been too slow. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone. So it's a smartphone, it's e-mail enabled. So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address, and all together now, the password is...?"

"Rachel." Evie said.

"Exactly." Sherlock typed that in and logged in to her account.

"So we can read her e-mails. So what?" Anderson said, clearly bored at this point.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud, you lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS. Which means if you lose it, you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her." Sherlock said.

"Unless he got rid of it." Lestrade said.

"But we know he didn't." John answered confidently.

"Come on, come on. Quickly!" Sherlock yelled at the computer.

Mrs. Hudson came back up the stairs, clearly having something to say. "Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver..."

"Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother? Get vehicles, get a helicopter. This phone battery won't last for ever."

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name." Lestrade said.

"It's a start!" Sherlock raised his voice.

"Sherlock..." John tried to get his attention.

"Narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead we've had."

John tried again. "Sherlock..."

"Where is it? Quickly, where?" Sherlock hurried over to the computer.

"Here. It's...in 221 Baker Street." John and Sherlock looked up from the computer. Evie looked around the flat, wondering where the phone possibly could be. It couldn't be any of the police officers. It was then that Evie realized that Mrs. Hudson still stood in the doorway with an old man standing behind her. He just stood there, watching everything. He was the taxi driver that was persistent about Sherlock leaving. The cab driver who had never been called.

"How can it be here?" Sherlock stood up. "How?"

"Maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere." Lestrade offered.

"What, I didn't notice it? Me? _I_ didn't notice?" Sherlock's voice grew more and more quiet as he began to think, forgetting that he was in a room full of people.

"Anyway, wetexted him, and he called back." John said.

Evie continued to watch the man out of the corner of her eye, but not doing anything obvious to let him realize that she was onto him.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim." Lestrade began to say.

Evie still continued to watch the old man. She suddenly realized that her and Sherlock were on the same page. No one else noticed anything off. She watched as Sherlock pulled out his phone; he had received a message, probably from the killer. The murderer wanted a confrontation at last.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked.

"What...? Yeah, yeah...I'm fine." Sherlock respond, barely listening.

"So, how can the phone be_ here_?" John wondered aloud.

"Don't know."

"I'll try it again."

"Good idea." Sherlock said, still seemingly in a daze.

"Where are you going?" John stood up.

"Fresh air, just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long." Sherlock, not turning around to respond, kept walking as he left the flat.

"Are you sure you're all right?" John asked him, genuinely concerned.

He simply responded, "I'm fine." Then he ran down the staircase.

"I'll follow him." Evie said to John. "You stay here."

John nodded and sat back down as Evie ran down the staircase, too. She was careful not to be too loud or to let Sherlock know he was being followed. She just stayed back and waited until he stepped into the waiting taxi and they drove off. She hopped into her car and followed them.


End file.
